


Insomnious Firefly Nights

by JaneAire



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Comfort, Cuddling, Depression, Four bros sleeping in a tent two inches apart cause theyre heckin gay, Insomnia, Insomniac Prompto, M/M, Mentions of Nightmares, Polyship Roadtrip, Sharing a Bed, Sobbing Prompto, Swearing, Writing Sprint, brief nudity, cursing, if you squint anyway, lots and lots of cuddling, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneAire/pseuds/JaneAire
Summary: Prompto can't sleep. It's been happening a lot recently.His boys take good care of him.





	Insomnious Firefly Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this today as a writing sprint in an attempt to get some angst out before I wrote for my other fic Dream On (But Don't Imagine) AND THEN THE EPISODE IGNIS TRAILER DROPPED TODAY AND SUCKED ALL THE JOY OUT OF MY SOUL. 
> 
> Anyway here's this ♡

It's so fucking hot. 

Another camping night for the four of them, a spot not far from the road, but there's no soft rushing sound of a car whizzing by, no soft rolling fog of headlights against the thin tarp of the tent. Even the bugs are quiet tonight. It's too fucking hot for the bugs to be alive. 

Prompto can't sleep. It's been happening a lot lately. He'd check his phone for the time, but he doesn't really need to--the moon shining through the tent is at its two-thirty position. Opening a quick game of kings knight might help him sleep, but if Ignis saw his phone light on again, he might actually leap across the tent and kill him. 

At least then he could fucking rest. 

He should be. He's fucking exhausted, covered in harsh bruises and there's a cut on his hip he's been hiding for weeks now--probably infected. Telling Ignis meant a long lecture, and Gladio would insist they rest, and the three of them would give Prompto that _look_ that meant he screwed up again. He couldn't take it, not now, not now. 

Prompto thinks of a million reasons he should be asleep. It had been a long ass day--the Regalia broke down, they'd ran for miles. He and Noct had wrestled around in the river, cleaning up before supper, and Prompto's hair was still wet against the nape of his neck. They hadn't even slept the night before, just went straight through the night like it was nothing. He'd been careful to avoid any ebony, even though Ignis requested he drink it “just so you can keep up, Prompto”. 

They're all in the tent now, Prompto sandwiched between Gladio, clad only in a pair of black briefs, one arm slung just above Prompto's head and his other hand twitching across his bare, muscled stomach, and Noct, whose face is just a few inches from Prompto, eyes closed and his mouth open, drooling on the slick fabric of the sleeping bag he's laying on top of--it's too hot to sleep between the covers tonight. Noct is similarly dressed to Gladio, long black boxers being the only difference, and Noct's smooth skin is on display, pock marked here and there with pretty beauty marks Prompto has kissed so many times. Not since the road trip started, though. 

He might let himself look, if he didn't want to cry so badly. He'd allowed himself to sleep in boxers tonight--a longer pair, baby blue--and thin cotton tee of Noct's, but he's still too hot, still not at all tired, and he can already hear Ignis’ voice tomorrow screaming at him for being such a nuisance to their team, such a deadweight. 

He ends up on his back, hands over his face, sobbing, because there's nothing else he can do when the sleep won't come. He tries to be quiet, but the tears are already all over his hands, stopping up his nose, and every breath he takes sounds so wet and pathetic. 

He hears Gladio hit Noctis before he realizes either one of them were awake. 

He doesn't remove his hands from his face when he bears Ignis hit the lamp, rolling closer to him by tucking an arm around Noctis. He feels their eyes, staring, and all he can do is lie deathly still and hope they get the hint to pretend his never happened. 

Noct is still half asleep, oblivious. “Prom? What's up, buddy--ouch!” 

That'd be Ignis, hitting the prince upside the head. 

“Prompto,” comes from his right, a soft, husky voice that he immediately identifies as Gladio, flinching when a hand comes up to circle his wrists, dragging his hands away from his face where he didn't realize he'd been digging his fingernails into the skin there. 

He doesn't want to look at Gladio, but the larger man slides up so that they're nose to nose, and Prompto is so aware he must look pathetic. Gods, he woke them up because he was sobbing in the middle of the night. The air in the tent is still too hot, and Gladio is still too close. He's holding both of Prompto's hands in his big one, pressed against one of his massive pecs--which would be something that would usually make Prompto pass out, but he's so passed mortified. 

“What's going on, kiddo?” Gladio breathed, smoothing out Prompto's hair with a hand. Prompto chances a glance at Ignis--his hair is a mess, glasses askew--and the advisor looks less than thrilled to be up this early in the morning. 

“‘S nothing,” Prom is quick to say, looking to the side, tracing the thick lines of Gladio's tattoo with his gaze. “We should sleep.” 

Gladio arched an eyebrow. “You've been rolling around for hours.” 

Prompto winced. “Noticed that, huh?” 

Noct snorted, sitting up. “You've always been like that. Is it bugging you?” 

Prompto almost screams at him--you'd think as much as Noctis values sleep, he wouldn't be so damn dense. 

“Uh--yes? It's okay, I'll get over it, you guys should get some sleep for tomorrow--”

“I do have some pills in my bag, Prompto, if you require them,” Ignis is saying suddenly, his arm still slung around Noctis’ shoulder. “You aren't the only one with this problem. Although, next time I'd prefer you say something sooner so we can remedy the situation before it becomes a problem, yes? It's difficult to keep track of all three of you when I'm clear on the other side of the tent.” 

And Ignis is _smiling_. Ignis. Ignis _if you aren't inclined to eat your vegetables, I'm under the assumption you aren't too attached to your bollocks_ Scientia. Smiling at Prompto kindly, softly, almost understanding as he roots around in his bag for a little pink vial. “Ah, here it is. You know, Noct didn't sleep well as a child.”

“Shut up, Specs,” Noct grumbled, already scooting over by Gladio so that Prompto had the room to crawl over to Ignis. 

“He did,” Ignis whispered conspiratorily, using a bare hand to cup Prompto's jaw, opening up his mouth just a bit to drop a few drops of the pink liquid onto his tongue. “Shouldn't be too bitter--Noctis wouldn't ever take anything unless it tasted like cotton candy.” 

“This is treason,” Noct grumbled, but he'd already curled up on Gladio's lap, head resting against a thick thigh, thicker hands running through the prince’s dark hair. 

“When we were still both young, he'd sneak out of his room and come and crawl into my bed. His nanny used to be so cross.” 

“You're the only cross nanny I've ever had--ouch, Gladio, don't pull so hard!” 

“The point is,” Ignis said pointedly, before turning his soft green gaze back on Prompto, his bare hand still cupping his jaw. “Let us know, please, if something is wrong. We're here for you. If you're hurting, we need to know.” 

“Oh,” Prompto said dumbly, cursing at the heavy feeling behind his eyes. Fuck, he wasn't gonna cry again. This whole thing was mortifying enough. He couldn't look at Ignis. 

“Prompto?” 

“I just,” he choked out, swearing, forcing a smile. “I thought you'd be mad.”

Ignis is frowning. Fuck. He looks sad, still holding Prompto's jaw, swiping his thumb out to brush across the constellation of freckles on his cheeks. “I'm sorry that I've given you that impression.” 

“Fuck,” Prompto cried out, jerking his chin away from Ignis’ rough palm and forcing a laugh. “Please don't be sorry, dude. ‘S my bad--” 

“It's not,” Ignis says, a bit more forcefully. “I'm well aware I'm too hard on you. I just didn't want to make it seem as if I were babying you because I thought you couldn't keep up, because I know you can.” 

Prompto flings himself onto his back then, scrubbing shamefully at his eyes again, accidentally kicking Noct's shin in the process. Gladio's hands are in Prompto's hands now, drawing the boy closer to his lap, making a shushing sound that's so fucking embarrassing. 

“Hey, Prom?” Noct slurred. “Grab my phone. I've got some movies saved up on there. We can watch till your medicine kicks in.” 

Prompto frowns, but nodded as Gladio began to pile up pillows behind them, dragging Ignis close to his side, placing Noct between his legs, letting the prince curl up against his chest. 

Prompto stared at the pile of boys uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot. There's the feeling again, the one that reminds him they've been together for years and years; he's the intruder. He's the traitor. He's the Niff. He doesn't belong-- 

“Isn't it hot in there?” he says instead, and it's Ignis that shakes his head, patting the space between his legs for Prompto to sit between them. Ignis, who's never shown any interest in Prompto before. Ignis, who Prompto thought hated him. 

He crawls in the space between the advisor's legs as he kicks off the lamp, letting his head loll against Ignis’ chest, fisting his splotchy fists in Ignis’ army green cotton tee, nosing against his ribs in a way he'd regret tomorrow. 

He's eye level with Noctis, who is smiling at him softly instead of watching the opening credits play, letting his open palm drop between them for Prompto to take it. He does. 

It's a little warm--but it's nice, being surrounded by the three of them, all rough skin and bruises and soft, freshly washed hair. Gladio's fingers keep brushing Prompto's wrist, probably on purpose, in a soothing way. He can feel Ignis’ nose pressing into the crown of his head, the advisor's hand pressed on his good hip. 

He'd tell them about his cut the second they got supplies for it, he decided. 

“You guys, uh, don't have to stay up for me, you know,” he mumbles when Gladio yawns, but the larger man just scoffs a laugh. “Really. I don't wanna be the reason you get hurt tomorrow because you're tired--” 

“Perhaps tomorrow can be a rest day, then,” Ignis sighs lethargically, with a soft smile, his fingers giving Prompto's hip a squeeze, the way he might do to Noct's. It sends a domino effect of fluttering through his chest. “I think we've more than earned it.”

“Here here,” Noctis muttered, eyes already closed as his face was scrunched comically against Gladio's bare stomach. 

Prompto finally feels it--he isn't sure if it's the medicine, or the good cry he's had, or the way Ignis’ hands keep scratching loyally at the nape of his neck, but he finally feels the heavy metallic pull behind his eyes--lethargy. The good kind. Not the exhaustion, but the actually feeling of his body powering down. 

Ignis whispers something against his ear, and he thinks it might be something important, some sort of confession he'll want to remember for years to come. 

He's too far gone to hear him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading to the end! As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. I hope you all have a wonderful day ♡


End file.
